


The Red Scarf

by MeeMaw



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, GoT Season8, Inspired by a Trailer, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 13:05:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17345744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeeMaw/pseuds/MeeMaw
Summary: I don't own GoT or ASOIAF, only the mistakes I make in the story.





	The Red Scarf

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own GoT or ASOIAF, only the mistakes I make in the story.

 

He finds her standing atop the deck at the hull of the ship, looking towards the North, his homeland.

 

“We are a day’s sail from the White Harbour”. He speaks in a whisper, not wanting to disturb her thoughts. She looks serene; lost in her thoughts, not a care in the world. He can tell she’s not thinking of the Iron Thrones or the White Walkers, or the burdens of legacies and kingdoms. She pulls the stray curls away from her face before turning around to meet his gaze.

 

“Do I look fat to you?”

 

Jon wonders if he misheard. “You..? What?!!” Wonders if it’s one of those times when she obliviously slips into Valyrian and he all but smiles, not understanding the meaning, making a note of words so that he can ask her later what she meant.

 

He takes a moment longer than he should’ve and a frown sits on her face. “I knew it! I’ve become fat. And it’s all your fault. All that wine and food. Gods! So much food.” Her eyes throw daggers at him and he tries his best to not grin or look a fool either with a perplexed expression on his face. 

 

“For someone who swears to have spent a lot of time on ships, and had wanted to be a sailor, you’ve been quite seasick in the last few days, barely eaten anything. And before you burn me with your stare, NO, I don’t think you’re fat. If anything, you’re just more beautiful.” He moves closer and his tone is hushed when he tells her, “The north and the snows favor you, Dany.”

 

 _Snow does favor me._ Dany bites an urge to smile and hums. “Mayhaps on our ride to Winterfell, I will be back to my normal self. And remind me to not touch any wine!”, she nearly commands.

 

“Don’t think you can look any lovelier, Your Grace. But sure, I shall do as you ask!” He says shaking his head at her ludicrous assumption about her ever not looking the most beautiful woman in all realms as they walk together to find their advisors for one last discussion before they alight the ship the following morning.

 

Dany spends the last night of the voyage in Jon’s cabin. After he has slept, she wiggles out of his embrace and quickly throws her sleeping gown and cloak over her shoulders to go back to her own cabin early so that she can make herself look presentable for their arrival at the White Harbor.

 

She turns around for one last look at the man with whom she has spent every minute of her time in the past month. She cushions her steps by curling her toes as she walks back to the bed and kisses him on the cheeks. “I love you, Jon” she says for the first time. No matter how often the words rang true in her head and heart, she has never said them to him. She didn’t know what future she had in Westeros but the only thing she now knows, at the culmination of their dalliance on this life changing voyage, is that he is the man who shall be her heir and his children after him. It made no matter if he was a Stark or a Snow. He was trustworthy and honorable, unlike any other she had known in her life. She skims her fingers over his cheeks, the curve of his neck, his shoulder, his bare arm, and lowering her lips on the corner of his mouth, she softly kisses him. “I love you” she whispers once again when she knows he isn’t listening and does not have to say it back.

 

She pulls the bed-furs over his shoulders, gives a sad, frosty smile and clutching her cloak tightly to her chest, lifts something from his bureau and leaves his cabin.

 

“What do you want me to do with this, Your Grace?” Her friend asks.

 

“I want to wear this cravat around my neck when we dock at the White Harbor. Apparently, it’s a part of the northern attire.”

 

Missandei gives her a knowing smile. “Of course, Your Grace. Although, I wonder, does His Grace know you have been stealing his clothes?”

 

Daenery giggles like a girl who is caught red-handed, a girl who blushes at the mention of her knight in shining armor. “No, he wouldn’t find out. You can’t tell one black piece of cloth from the other.” She says, rolling her eyes at the thought of the stubborn man who thinks black is his color. If they win this war and he returns to Dragonstone, she shall order an entire new wardrobe for him. She thinks she will ask the seamstress to add some red silks here and there, and that thought delights her.

 

“Tell me if this is too tight.” Missandei breaks her reverie, looping one end of the black scarf around the other and adjusting the pleats around the neck and fastening the coat around Dany’s shoulders. “Do you wish to don your ermine cloak with this or the _black_ one?”

 

Blushing wildly, Dany replies, “I don’t know. I think it would be too much.” She says moving her hands around her waist and turning around to smoothen the coat over her behind

 

“What are you worried about, my queen? I never saw you this anxious. Is it about the northern lords or a certain northern family?”

 

Observing herself in the looking glass for a few heartbeats Dany says, “Neither. Leave it be, Missandei.” She wants to remove the black cravat from around her neck but in a rush to get out on the deck and breathe in fresh air, she leaves it on.

 

_‘I love you’ three words that he had wanted to say even before they sailed to parley with Cersei Lannister. Not a day had passed since then when he hadn’t wanted to say those words to her. Even though it was decided that he will remain the King in the North until the northern threat is dealt with, he always felt he couldn’t provide her anything. Despite the title, he was still a bastard with no name and no lands to call his own. He was fearful that one day when it would all be over, he would be alone, with a dragon sized void in his heart she’d leave behind, taking with her something that would be irreplaceable. Her three words had alleviated all his anxieties and given him hope. His heart had soared, yet he lay still, pretending to be asleep. Oh, he had to summon all the restraint in his body to keep himself from pulling her into his embrace and kissing her mad and telling her that he loved her._

 

He meets her and the gathered council members at the dock and silently takes his place by her side. They hadn’t broken their fast together like they did every day. Dany was sick of the sea and sent him a message that she would sup only when they reached the land.

 

A northern guard of honor receives them at the White Harbor and the Unsullied and some of the Dothraki who sailed with them from Dragonstone and not through the Kings Road, have already disembarked in the days preceding their arrival. Despite the threat of the White Walkers, the port city is bustling with activity. The mood is somber and at the same time, that of hope and curiosity. Seeing their King stand tall and proud beside the Dragon Queen is a sight to behold for the northern commonfolk, ushering a sense of optimism and glory. As they cross the bazaar, they see a large number of shops selling banners of the Manderlys, the Targaryens, the Starks and other Houses that have assembled in the north and have passed through the harbor. Some sellers have amalgamated the heraldry to depict their own version of the alliance that was going to save not only the north, but the entire mankind from facing extinction at the hands of an ancient enemy.

 

Once Dany and her council are settled at the New Keep, Jon excuses himself and goes into the city to meet the commonfolk. Late after their supper, when everyone has retired to their chambers, Jon finds her sitting in the balcony, gazing in the direction of Dragonstone.

“Do you miss home?”, he asks. She thinks for a while. “No. I’m afraid of the future but I don’t miss Dragonstone or Meereen or the King’s Landing. I feel vaguely empty and yet, for the first time in my life, I don’t feel the need to be someplace else.”

 

Jon nods in a silent understanding. He can comprehend what she means, for he feels the same. He feels at peace with her, wants to live life one day at a time and see where destiny takes them.

 

Clearing his throat, he tells her, “I’ve something for you.”

 

She walks to him in anticipation.

 

“Not like this.” His smile is full of playful mischief.

 

He unfastens her fur coat and gently moves it down her pale shoulders. It pools at her feet and she is left standing in her shift and the black scarf, _his scarf_. His deft fingers slowly unknot it and peel it away from her, careful not to leave cloth burns on her exquisite skin. “Are you here to tell me that you’ve caught my theft, Jon.” She manages to say, her eyes half lidded and parted-lips letting out soft gasps as his lips and mouth paint a beautiful portrait on her pale skin. “No, I’m here to tell you that black is not your color. You’re meant to wear all other colors and leave black to me.” He drops his scarf on the dresser. She looks at it like a toy has been taken away from a child. She wanted to keep a part of him with her, around her when they would be away from each other during the wars to come and with her ill-fate, mayhaps the separation will be permanent. He removes a silk scarf from his pocket, it’s the blood-red of the Targaryens and he gently wraps it around her neck in a loose knot.

He lets his callused hand linger around her shoulders, his fingers trace the curve of her neck and his thumbs rub small, soft circles along her jaw, reaching behind her ear and he says, “Daenerys, I love you” The low gravel of his voice is melody to her ears. And she looks up at him with wide eyes. He strokes her silver hair, sees his reflection in her lilac eyes and kisses her. “I love you, Daenerys. Do you love me?” he says again, a hopeful smile gracing his handsome face.

 

A moment passes between them before she says, “I love you too, Jon” and he drags her up her toes, molding her soft curves tightly against his work hardened body and kisses her earnestly. His hands rove over her softness, not knowing where to stop, he wants her, all of her. Her past, her present and her future. He will take her smiles and her tears, her agonies and her worries, her laughter and the twinkle in her eyes, he wants all of it for himself. She is all he wants and so, he doesn’t know where to stop and his hands and his luscious mouth seek everything she has to offer. He seeks and seeks it from her, relentlessly, gasping and moaning. She pushes his shirt down his shoulders and fumbles with his breeches and when they both are naked as their nameday, he revels in her touch and touches her back. She is softer than silk whereas her breasts are firmer and fuller than he remembers them from a month ago. When he savors their weight in his palm for a little longer than he probably should have, and with a heady arousal that must’ve shone in his eyes, she looks at him with annoyance. Before she could complain, he eagerly tells her that she’s _not fat_! She’s beautiful, different, more curvaceous. That she still fits against him perfectly. That she grows more perfect for him by the day, by the heartbeat.

 

When he moves his fingers between her legs, he finds it wet. She curls her fingers around his wrist as his blunt strokes become relentless and unforgiving. Her mouth is slightly open and his breath is hot against her jawline. He sucks her lips, rolls his tongue over them, licks the sides of her mouth, kisses the dimples of her cheeks, suckles on the throbbing column of her neck, and repeats all of it once more, ending just under the lobe of her ear.

 

“You’re so ready for me, Dany” he huskily words in her ear, his fingers stretching her and his moist breath sending shivers down her spine. She willingly lowers herself on her back and he climbs up on her, entering her slowly, worried he might spend himself before he can please her. Her nails claw his skin and he focuses on the pain rather than the pleasure she is giving him. Although, how much pain can she really give a man who has taken daggers to his heart, he wonders. He imagines his endurance for physical pain is much less than the self control he has when he is inside her. He barely makes it before she comes undone around him and he tilts her hips up and empties himself inside her.

 

When she’s panting heavily, pushing away his heaviness that makes her restless nowadays, her hand unknowingly rests on her chest and she remembers something. She feels her skin tingle and her breath catches in her chest. “Jon..” Before she can say anything, he says, “Once we reach Winterfell, let us marry. Let us marry for love.”

 

She agrees and she hopes. As she bites her lip and curls in his chest, he doesn’t wait for her answer. He knows.

 

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” He feels anguished at having interrupted her thoughts.

 

Tomorrow, she thinks, tomorrow she will seek a maester and tell Jon before they leave for Winterfell. “Nothing. I wanted to say, I love you.”

 

“I love you too, Dany. I’m hopelessly in love with you.” He smiles and she smiles with him. Like, they’ve found their home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> As you can see, am still hung-up on the color imagery :D
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Lemme know what you think! :)


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